Southern Comforts. Nan Dixon

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Abby’s back was to him as she uncorked a wine bottle. He was the first guest to arrive.

      “What’s the theme tonight?” he asked.

      She turned and his smile dimmed. This woman’s hair was almost the same color, but she wasn’t Abby.

      “Hello,” she said with a warm smile.

      “I’m sorry, I thought you were Abby.”

      “Thank you. My sister is lovely, so I’ll take that as a compliment.” The woman’s smile filled her face. “I’m Bess.”

      “Nice to meet you. You and your sister look alike.”

      But the two sisters were different, too. Bess’s nose was splattered with freckles. Her eyes had more gold in them than Abby’s emerald ones. Abby’s hair was an intriguing shade of strawberry blonde, while Bess’s was redder. And when Bess smiled, his body didn’t come to attention.

      “What are the appetizers tonight?” he asked, trying to focus.

      “Your theme is California Dreams. Artichoke dip, grilled tomatoes, olive tapenade, carrots, celery and other nibblers. California wines, of course.”

      Setting down the wine bottle, Bess extended her hand. He shook it, surprised at both the strength and callouses. She smelled like flowers with an earthiness he couldn’t identify.

      “I’m Gray Smythe.”

      She laughed, making him frown.

      “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that Abs was so mad. She didn’t know about your arrangements before you arrived. Dolley wasn’t able to get your information into the reservation system.” She leaned over and whispered, “Our sister wants new software.”

      “There’s three of you, right?” He’d read that tidbit in the B and B’s pamphlet.

      “Three girls. Our poor mother.” She opened another bottle and spoke over her shoulder. “Dolley’s the baby. She’s our computer expert and bookkeeper.”

      “What can I pour for you?” Bess asked.

      He looked at the offerings. “The cabernet, please.”

      Bess poured a glass for him and then a small amount into another, swirling it around. She stuck her nose into the bowl and then sipped. “Nice.”

      She leaned against the closest armchair, seeming more relaxed than Abby’s mysterious professional persona. “Is this your first visit to Savannah?”

      “My second,” he replied. “Is February always this warm?”

      “You Northerners,” she laughed, sinking into the chair. “This is cold.”

      “When I left Boston, it was snowing.”

      “If it ever snowed here, I’d lose half my gardens.” She frowned. “Of course, the blasted kudzu would survive.”

      “I sat in the garden today. Your landscaper did a wonderful job.”

      She blushed, a pink that highlighted her pale skin. “Thank you. I manage the gardens.”

      “This really is a family operation.” And an impressive one. “You work in the garden—Abby in the kitchen.”

      Without trying to show any interest, he sipped his wine and asked, “Where is Abby?” That sounded strange, so he added, “I wanted to thank her for getting the contractor names for me.”

      “She’s at a Hospitality and Resort Association meeting.” A smile played across her lips. “Abs went dressed to kill just to mess with some guy who thought he could date three women at one time.”

      “And he’s in the association?” He could understand any man being fascinated by Abby. She’d been popping into his head throughout the day. Probably because last night had been the nicest conversation he’d had in months.

      “The jerk’s a manager at one of the area inns. He should know, no one treats a Fitzgerald like that and survives.” She stood and helped herself to a carrot stick. Crossing her ankles, she leaned against the table.

      “Where are the rest of the guests?” he asked.

      “Tuesday is our lowest census day. I like to chat with the guests, if that’s what they want, so I take the Tuesday wine tastings. Today, a couple of Moons checked in and there’s a group of ladies and two couples who leave tomorrow.”

      “Moons? Honeymooners, right?” He moved over and loaded a plate with appetizers, chips and dip.

      “Yeah. We get quite a few of them.”

      A tall man walked in the room and Bess’s head jerked up, a frown creasing her forehead. “Forester, what are you doing here?”

      Forester walked over and kissed her cheek. “Good to see you, babe.”

      Her frown deepened. “Don’t call me that.”

      Forester winked and then poured himself a glass of wine.

      “Are you taking a room?” She crossed her arms, scowling.

      Gray hid his grin by sipping his wine.

      “I’m meeting one of your guests.” Forester chucked her under the chin. “Let me get some business done, and then you and I can catch up.”

      Gray walked over to him. The man looked around his age, early thirties. “Daniel Forester, I presume.”

      “Got me in one. Nice to meet you, Grayson Smythe from Boston.”

      “Gray works best.”

      “Gray it is,” Daniel said. “Whenever you’re ready, we can stroll over to your warehouse.”

      “Finish your wine. I’ll have a little more of this dip.” Gray patted his stomach. “I need to start swinging a hammer, or they’ll have to roll me back to Boston.”

      “Our Abby is a dream in the kitchen,” Daniel said.

      Were he and Abby involved? Gray’s shoulders tightened. The answer shouldn’t matter. He’d left Boston to get off that particular merry-go-round.

      “Do you know the previous warehouse owner?” asked Daniel.

      “He’s more than an acquaintance, but not quite a friend.”

      Daniel nodded. “He rarely came down to see the project. The rehab should be done by now.”

      “I’d agree with you on that. If we end up working together, I should tell you that I’m a hands-on manager,” warned Gray.

      “I can live with that.”

      As Gray finished his wine, one of the honeymoon couples he’d met this morning entered the library. How did they know they could spend a lifetime together? He’d never come close to feeling СКАЧАТЬ